


Matt's Medication Misadventures

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Allergies, Anaphylaxis, Drugs, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Medications, Pneumonia, allergic reactions, poor matty, the real reason matt hates hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:39:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt doesn't have a good relationship with medications. He tends to be allergic to all of them.<br/>Antibiotics? Yup. Painkillers? Of course. Advil and Tylenol? WHY NOT.<br/>Needless to say, it makes hospital visits terrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning and Benzodiazepines

**Author's Note:**

> Fills two prompts!  
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=5588680#cmt5588680  
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=3835854#cmt3835854

Matt and drugs didn't have a good history. Drugs were just chemicals, his dad told him. Since Matt had stitched up his father more than once without any sort of painkiller, he knew that pain could indeed be overcome. After all, chemicals weren't good for you, right?

 

Of course, then he got chemicals spilled in his eyes doing a good deed, and everything went to hell from there. Especially how he reacted to drugs.

 

* * *

 

He'd only had a seizure the once that he knew about, when he was going through puberty and his senses were hell, no matter what Stick had taught him. The influx of hormones did insane things to his body, and there were some days it was all he could do not to scream.

 

There was one particularly bad incident, when he collapsed in the school yard and the teachers called an ambulance. He didn't remember much of it, but the music teacher told him what happened when he went back to school. Apparently he was almost catatonic for a bit, until the paramedics tried to help him. Then he began screaming and flailing about. They tried to sedate him, but that only made it worse. Finally they just strapped him to the stretcher and put him in the ambulance, giving him another dose of sedatives to try and calm him down. That was when he had the seizure.

 

The doctors told the nuns it was a paradoxical reaction, when a sedative had the opposite effect it was supposed to. Instead of calming him, the drug only exacerbated his condition. Instead of acting as a seizure preventative medication, it induced one.

 

A note was added to his chart, paradoxical reactions to benzodiazepines.

 

That was only the beginning.

 


	2. Penicillin, Sulfa, Vancomycin, Tylenol

Despite living in close quarters with numerous children in the orphanage, Matt remained fairly healthy until university. It was only then that he discovered his allergies to assorted antibiotics, since apparently he hadn't taken many, if any, since before his accident.

 

It was reading week in the first year of law school, and both Matt and Foggy decided to stay on campus to get more work done. Matt suspected Foggy only stayed because he did, since it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. Foggy had dragged him home for a few days at Christmas, but Matt couldn't help but feel he was intruding.

 

So they stayed on campus for the week. February was generally an awful month, the winter getting overdone and gross, and everyone being sick of snow. Matt was tired of the ice on the sidewalks that posed a hazard anytime he tried to go places on his own. Plus, he was starting to get sick, a fact which he blamed on a combination of stress from upcoming midterms, and the party that Foggy had dragged him to in the middle of the week. (Really, who had a party on a Wednesday night?)

 

By Sunday, Matt was running a fever and had a cough that rattled his chest. Foggy dragged him to the doctor on Monday, when his fever passed the 103 mark, and his throat was raw despite all the honey in his tea.

He was given antibiotics and a diagnosis of pneumonia, and told to rest.

Foggy dragged him back to the dorm, forced an antibiotic pill in him, a tylenol for the fever, and some allergy medication to put him to sleep.

 

Matt fell asleep and woke up unable to breathe. The next while was a blur, with an ambulance and paramedics and doctors, and at one memorable point, Foggy staring at him very closely.

“Dude, you're allergic to penicillin,” he said, once he realized Matt was more or less awake. (He kind of freaked out when he woke up with Foggy's face so close to his.)

Matt sank back into the pillows (sandpapery) and considered that.

“Huh,” he croaked out, because his throat was even more sore than it had been, which didn't make sense, because he was in a hospital and hospitals were supposed to make things better, right?

Foggy offered him a straw, and Matt accepted it gratefully, pushing his oxygen mask aside (whistling) to suck at the cool water. It helped, but only a bit.

“Yeah. Then they tried to switch you to a different antibiotic, cause penicillin is no good, clearly, and you were allergic to that one too.”

Matt hummed. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“So they've got you on a different one now that should be good.”

Matt closed his eyes.

“Dude, don't ever do that again. I had to call an ambulance, and you were all like, dying or something, and it was very stressful, okay? I didn't like it.”

Matt cracked a grin. “No more antibiotics,” he muttered.

“No more getting sick, period. Oh, and they think that your rash is due to the tylenol.”

“Rash?”

“Oh, yeah I guess you haven't seen it. It's on your stomach mostly, but it's nearly gone with the insane amount of allergy medications they've given you. And since I gave you some to help you sleep, it might have helped with the whole allergic reaction thing. Jesus, I don't want to know what could have happened if you didn't have it in your system.”

Matt hummed. He was drifting off into sleep again.

 

The next time he woke up, he was hot and uncomfortable. Foggy was still there, asleep if his heart rate was anything to go by. The noises of the hospital and the whistling of the oxygen mask were drowning out his hearing. His chest was itchy, and he initially thought it was the rash that Foggy had mentioned before, until his friend woke up.

“Dude, you're like... red.”

Matt glared at him as much as he could.

“No, really. You have a rash or something on your neck and chest and shoulders, and it's red. Like, really red. Does it hurt?”

“Itchy,” Matt growled.

“Right. I'll call the nurse.” Foggy pressed the call button, and Matt laid back and tried not to itch.

 

The nurse immediately called the doctor, who prescribed even more antihistamines and other drugs, and took Matt off the newest antibiotics, pronouncing him allergic to them as well.

Matt wanted to pull his hair out.

 

Unfortunately, considering that Matt was allergic to the other antibiotics they doctors had tried (“severely allergic,” he'd been told), they put him back on that same drug again. They loaded him up with antihistamines and steroids and other things that Matt couldn't pronounce to prevent him turning red again.

After all, he still had pneumonia, amongst the other things.

 

He had to stay in the hospital until his course of antibiotics were done, and reading week was entirely wasted. It was probably a good thing he didn't go home with Foggy.

 

More notes were added to his chart, diagnosing him with severe allergies to penicillin and sulfa drugs, as well as a reaction to vancomycin, the drug they'd finally used.

He was given a prescription for epi-pens and told to get some sort of medical identification.

Matt filled the prescription, but ignored the rest of the advice. As long as he didn't get sick and need antibiotics, he'd be fine.

 


	3. Ibuprofen, Phenobarbital

Matt had a headache. In fact, it might have been the worst headache he'd ever had.

He might have mentioned that to Foggy once or twice. (“Oh god, why is it so loud,” he moaned. “Stop your inane typing. And breathing. It hurts.”)

“Jesus man, take some advil.”

A bottle landed on the bed next to him.

Matt felt around for it. “It's not tylenol, is it?”

“No man. I know you're allergic to that, remember? I was there. I read the label. Ibuprofen only. You're not allergic to that, right?”

“I don't think so,” Matt told him. He couldn't remember having it. Stick had taught him to meditate through the pain, so even when he had growing pains and various aches, he never went to the nuns and asked for medication.

“Well, we've got epi-pens if you are, but please don't make it come to that.”

Matt laughed. “I'll try. How many pills?”

“Those are 200, so take two. Three if it's really bad and you don't mind disobeying labels made by the man to keep us down.”

“I think I'll stick to two.”

He swallowed the pills and tossed the bottle back to Foggy. He put his headphones back on and tried to meditate until the medication kicked in.

 

He fell asleep for a while, until he woke up with his stomach aching and churning.

“Foggy, the garbage,” he choked out.

Foggy was quick enough to get the bin underneath Matt before he threw up.

And then again. And again.

Matt's head was still pounding and he felt vaguely dizzy. He bet his vision would be blurred if he had vision.

“Are you okay?” Foggy asked, a minute after the vomiting stopped for the time being. “Is this the headache?”

“I dunno. Never made me feel like this before.”

“Could it be the advil?”

He shrugged.

His stomach heaved again and the next few minutes were lost to more pain and suffering.

 

He was sure that there was nothing left in his stomach, not that he'd eaten much in the last while. Headaches killed his appetite, and all that he could remember eating recently was the advil and the water he'd swallowed it with.

 

He groaned.

“What is it? Are you going to throw up again?” Foggy called from the bathroom, where he was changing the garbage bag.

“No. Maybe.”

Foggy came back into the room and set the garbage bin next to Matt's bed. “So what's with the moaning?”

“I think it might be the advil,” he admitted. “A headache has never made me feel like this before, and it did start after I took it.”

“Right,” Foggy said. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled his laptop onto his lap. “Symptoms?”

“Nausea. Vomiting. Stomach pain. I think I'm dizzy, but that could be the headache. Itchy, maybe?”

Foggy stopped typing. “Itchy where?”

Matt ceased his absent scratching. “Arms? Skin?”

“Skin isn't a place,” Foggy scolded.

“Yes it is,” Matt protested. His stomach turned again, and he clutched at the bin just in case.

Foggy sighed, coming to stand next to Matt. “Let me see.” He tugged at Matt's sleeve. “Wow, would you look at that? Rash.”

Matt groaned. “Great. Yet another drug I'm allergic to.”

“We should go to the hospital,” Foggy told him.

“No,” Matt said firmly. “We start that internship on Monday. I need to be fine by then.”

“Um, yeah. That's what the hospital is for? Hospitals make people better.”

“Last time it didn't go well,” he protested. “You dragged me to the doctor and then I ended up in the hospital for like a week.”

“Okay, first, I apologized. A lot. And second, that was a once in a million thing. The doctor even said so. And third... okay I don't have a third, but I was on a roll. No, wait. Third, I don't want to deal with you having another allergic reaction in the dorm. The paramedics might start to suspect I'm poisoning you or something.”

Matt sighed. “I have an epi-pen. I'll be okay.”

“Nope, the website I read definitely says that if you experience symptoms of an allergic reaction, you're supposed to go to emerg.”

Matt frowned. “I feel like you're making that up.”

“Uhm, no.”

His heartbeat jumped.

Matt narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, it might say if you experience symptoms of a severe allergic reaction, but I don't want to wait til then.”

“And what will they do? Give me some antihistamines, observe me for a couple of hours, then send me home and tell me never to take advil again? We can do that here, where it is marginally quieter and I can throw up in peace.”

“They can do that at the hospital!” Foggy blurted out. “Drugs to stop throwing up. Plus, you could get something for your headache.”

“Stop reminding me about it,” Matt groaned. The throbbing was renewed, and with it, his stomach rolled again. He resisted the urge to throw up. It would only make everything worse. Gagging and retching up bile would only increase the pain in his head and strain the muscles in his abdomen.

He kind of just wanted to pass out for about two days and wake up when everything was gone.

He knew he should probably drink something, but he was fairly certain it wouldn't stay down.

 

“Okay,” he sighed. “But only because I'm worried about dehydration and possible anaphylaxis. Not cause you talked me into it.”

“Sure thing,” Foggy agreed. “On an unrelated note, I've got your stuff ready to go.”

Of course he did.

 

He didn't throw up on the way to the hospital, but he kind of wanted to. He kind of wanted to throw up in triage and while waiting to be seen by a doctor. The itching was getting worse and the headache was threatening to split his skull open, cause he was sure that it could happen, screw science.

 

The doctor finally came in and assessed him, and prescribed drugs.

“Okay, we'll give you a sedative to help you sleep, antihistamines for the allergic reaction, something for the nausea, and see if we can find something for the pain that you're not allergic to.”

“Thank you,” Matt said. He closed his eyes.

 

The nurse came in shortly after and pushed the drugs, and Matt drifted off.

 

He woke up in a different room, but still in the hospital. It was late. Or maybe early. The hospital was quiet.

He frowned. “Wasn't I supposed to go home?” he croaked.

Foggy, who Matt hadn't even realized was there, leaned over. “Hey buddy. And yeah, you were supposed to go home after they gave you the meds, but you kind of had a bit of a reaction.”

Matt groaned.

“They tried to sedate you so you could sleep. Since whatever the other drug is that didn't work, the normal sedative, they gave you a different one. Except you were kind of allergic to it.”

Matt groaned again. It just really seemed to be the right response.

“So you were out, but then your face kind of swelled up. Win/lose situation.”

“My head doesn't hurt anymore at least,” Matt sighed.

Foggy snorted. “Yeah, I'd think not. You slept for like a full day. Whatever was going on up there should be fixed by now.”

Matt nodded.

“Also, some good news. You are not allergic to the one drug they gave you that stopped you from throwing up. Although I was told that it acts as an antihistamine too? So, I don't really know. Which is why I'm in law school, not med school,” Foggy informed him.

Matt smiled. “I know. Thanks for doing this.”

“Someone has to make sure you don't accidentally get injected with penicillin or latex or something.”

Matt laughed. “I don't think latex can be injected.”

“And that's how they're going to get you,” Foggy said seriously.

Matt smiled.

“Don't think this gets you off the hook for dragging me to the hospital though. Cause it turned out badly. Again.”

Foggy huffed at him.

 


	4. Aspirin

He showed up at Claire's apartment with at least five broken ribs (he lost count in between the whole remembering to breathe so he wouldn't pass out thing) and one hell of a concussion.

She sighed at him. “Come on in.”

 

He collapsed on her couch and didn't hear much for a while, just let her clean the various cuts scattered across his body. (How he got a gash to the stomach he couldn't be sure.) He sort of drifted, distracted by the pain of breathing and the creaking noises of his ribs with each breath he took.

And probably the concussion. Yeah, that was likely a factor.

 

Claire handed him a glass of water and two pills.

“What are these?” he asked, feeling them suspiciously.

“Aspirin. Nothing stronger than that, I know. I wouldn't do that to you. But your ribs are probably causing you a lot of pain, and I need you to keep breathing deeply despite that pain.”

Matt considered it. He couldn't remember having a reaction to aspirin before. Of course, he also couldn't remembering taking aspirin before. He had to have though, maybe in the hospital?

He downed the pills, drinking the whole glass of water with them.

 

* * *

 

The wheezing picked up later. It came on slowly, so he didn't notice it at first, but apparently Claire did when the breathing made his ribs ache so much he winced. The coughing really cemented it though, when he thought his chest was going to crack apart with the pain. In the midst of all that, Claire heaved him to a sitting position.

 

So yeah, Claire was worried. She listened to his chest, checking for a collapsed lung, but Matt knew she wouldn't find one. It didn't feel like that this time.

She did hear something though, because she whipped her stethoscope back around her neck and began digging through her giant medical bag.

“Do you have any allergies?”

“Penicillin,” he told her. “Sulfa drugs,” he said on the next breath.

“And you didn't think to mention them to me?” she asked, screeching somewhat.

Matt shrugged and it tugged at his ribs. Everything made his ribs hurt. Breathing. Ugh. He figured it wasn't the best time to mention his reactions to various other drugs either.

“But not aspirin?”

Matt shrugged again. It was that or say _I don't know_ and he wasn't sure he could manage that many words.

“Jesus, you're an idiot.”

He just grinned at her, because of course he was, he was Matthew Murdock, Daredevil, and being a reckless idiot was kind of what he did.

 

She must have found what she was looking for in her bag, because she clipped something to his finger.

“What?” he asked.

“Pulse ox,” she replied. “So I know whether or not I need to call an ambulance or resort to more extreme measures.”

“No,” he protested.

“Not really your choice,” she replied. Something beeped. “Well, you're doing okay for now. Despite your wheezing, you're getting enough oxygen into your blood, so I won't call right now. I will give you this antihistamine to take though.”

Matt accepted the pills she handed him and downed them with more water.

 

He tried to lean back into the couch and relax, but it really didn't work.

 

The symptoms slowly abated, and his breathing was back to being a normal level of painful.

“Probably best you don't take any more aspirin,” Claire noted. She was writing something down. Medical notes? A letter to Foggy about how much of an idiot his partner was? Shopping list? He couldn't be sure.

Matt nodded. “This would probably be a good time to tell you that I also had a reaction to vancomycin and a paradoxical reaction to benzodiazepines.”

Claire stared at him.

“No, actually. A good time to tell me would have been after I pulled you out of the dumpster the first time we met. This is a bad time. I could have killed you, you know that right?”

“Nah,” he dismissed. “I'm very hard to kill.”

“Gracias a Dios por que,” Claire muttered. “I'll pick up some epi-pens.”

Matt fought down the grin.

 


	5. Fentanyl, Latex

It was just a normal 'left a pint of blood trailing from my latest fight to your apartment' kind of visit.

 

Claire took one look at him and put a pressure dressing on the wound on his arm while she started a line.

Matt, who was feeling decidedly woozy, figured that would be as good as any time to call Foggy and let him know that he wouldn't make it to Josie's.

“Call Foggy,” he told his phone. Claire had moved her attention back to his arm, a bag of saline running into his other hand.

“Matt, where are you?”

“Claire's,” he declared. “I'm going to be late.”

“No, he's not going to be there at all,” Claire corrected.

Matt frowned. “You don't know that.”

“What have you done now?” Foggy sighed.

“He's lost a decent amount of blood, has about a dozen cuts, and probably a dislocated knee cap,” Claire informed him.

Matt considered it. “Oh yeah, it is dislocated. Good catch,” he complimented.

He heard Foggy facepalm on the other end.

“I'll come to you then,” he told the pair.

Foggy hung up before Claire could protest. “How does he know where I live?” she frowned.

“I might have told him,” Matt shrugged. “How's my arm.”

“Bleeding. Still. I'll stitch it up, but I'm still worried about the blood loss.”

“I'll meditate,” he told her. “Rebuild those red blood cells in no time at all.”

“That's not how it works,” she sighed. Matt could hear her setting up a suture kit. The antiseptic on his arm was cold compared to the blood it had recently been coated in.

 

He did meditate while Claire did the sutures. It didn't really help that much, not that it ever did.

 

“I'm going to give you an analgesic before I pop your knee back into place.”

Matt frowned. “But what about the whole... sense thing,” he waved around. Claire grabbed his arm and yanked it back down. Matt had forgotten about the IV in it.

“It's going to hurt a lot, and it's only a short acting drug.”

“Allergies?”

“I checked your chart at the hospital, you should be okay with this.”

“Why didn't you check my chart sooner,” he huffed.

“Oh, because I thought I would respect your privacy and that you would tell me important things, Matthew _Michael_ Murdock.”

Matt smiled. “Mike was a good choice.”

“Clearly I need to pick my patients more carefully,” she sighed. She injected the drug into the IV and waited for it to take effect.

“Coulda done that before the stitches,” he huffed.

Claire shrugged.

 

The pain definitely did not decrease. In fact, it only increased, a thing that Matt was very sure was not supposed to happen.

“Ugh,” he grunted.

“What's wrong?”

“Hurts more.”

He could hear her frowning. “What does?”

“Everything.” It was true. He could feel the individual stitches in his skin. He could feel them tugging the side of the wound together. He could feel the displaced bone in his leg shifting every time he moved, and it was grinding against other bones. Hell, even the pressure of his outfit, which had been carefully chosen so the material was comfortable, was paining him.

Claire took his hand, which only made it worse.

“Ow,” he whimpered.

She let his hand go quickly. “That hurt?”

He nodded, which was a mistake. Even his hair was hurting. He winced.

“I think I know what this is. I've heard about it before, but it's usually in cancer patients who've had high doses of opioids administered over long periods.”

“Which I'm not.”

“Which you're not,” she agreed. “How are you feeling otherwise?”

“Tired. Hurting.”

“Any trouble breathing, anaphylaxis symptoms?”

He frowned. “No. Do you expect them?”

“I certainly hope not. While you are allergic to morphine, I chose an opioid that's in a different class to minimize risk of you being allergic.”

“Allergic to morphine?” Matt echoed.

“Yeah, when you had pneumonia they tried to give it to you for the pain. Not such a good time. Anaphylaxis and respiratory suppression. Thankfully you were already intubated, so it wasn't such a big deal, but it could have been.”

Matt hummed. He didn't entirely remember that period of his life, and most of the time he was thankful. Although knowing he was allergic to morphine would have been nice to know, especially since it was such a severe allergy.

“And what did you give me this time?”

“Fentanyl. Short acting, quick onset, very potent.”

“So this should go away soon?”

“The pain? Yes. I won't touch your knee until then, since I'm pretty sure it will only be worse.”

Matt groaned at the thought of it. He was aware of every inch of his skin that was touching Claire's couch, because every single inch of it hurt. He did not need any more pain added to that. Especially pain that was supposed to be interpreted as pain, rather than just normal sensation.

 

The next little while dragged on. Matt tried to meditate, but the pain kept dragging him out. Claire kept busy around him, and he managed to mostly follow her movements. He finally gave up on it when Foggy arrived.

 

“Hey Matty. I brought an epi-pen and some more antihistamines, in case Claire ran out.”

“Thank you. I would have been better stocked if I'd known he was allergic to so many damn things.”

She was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

“How's the pain?” she continued.

“Back to being normal,” Matt muttered.

“Good. Lie down and I'll fix your knee. Foggy, there's an ice pack in the freezer. Can you grab it?”

It was a subtle way to get Foggy out of the way, since Matt was probably going to make awful faces and yell. Foggy didn't need that. Matt appreciated Claire for doing it.

As soon as Foggy was in the kitchen, Claire moved his kneecap back into place.

He couldn't help the gasp that escaped, but at least he didn't scream.

“There you go,” she soothed him. “It's all done now. I know it hurts, but it's back in place now, so it should hurt less once the shock wears off.”

“Got the ice,” Foggy announced.

Claire arranged it on Matt's knee, and he groaned at the pressure. Apparently the meds hadn't worn off entirely. Or maybe it was going to hurt either way.

 

Foggy sat down on Claire's coffee table next to him, since he was sort of taking up the whole couch.

“She's got a lot of drugs in here,” he noted, digging through Claire's medical kit. “Lots of things you're allergic to, sadly.”

“Get them away from me Foggy,” he whined. He was pretty sure he was bleeding onto Claire's couch, but he didn't quite care. Damn her stitches. If they were torn, it was through no fault of his own.

“Modern medicine is a miracle,” Foggy informed him.

“You're not the one with a latex allergy,” Matt snipped. “Why are you here? Did you let Claire give me an opium derivative? I feel the itches coming on.”

“I just got here,” Foggy sighed, as way of an excuse.

“You have a fucking latex allergy?” Claire yelled from the kitchen. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Matt groaned and wished the reaction to the fentanyl had killed him, or at least necessitated a hospital visit for the sole purpose of not being there.

 

He rolled over, nearly yanking the IV out in the process. The site where Claire had inserted it was also painful. Everything was painful, and Claire couldn't give him any drugs to help. Not that he would take them.

On the plus side, he was less dizzy, which was probably because of the fluids. On the other hand, he could definitely smell fresh blood on the couch, meaning he'd torn something open. Maybe a stitch, maybe one of the smaller cuts that hadn't been sutured. Either way, he couldn't really bring himself to care.

 

Shortly after, Claire administered another dose of antihistamines to combat the itchiness, and Foggy threatened to put mittens on him if he didn't stop scratching. She also offered other alternatives.

“Ibuprofen?”

“Vomiting.”

“Tylenol?”

“Rash.”

“Morphine is anaphylaxis, fentanyl is hyperalgesia. Man, there is not much I can give you is there?”

Matt shook his head.

“With you having reactions in two different opioid classes, I don't really want to risk giving you anything else. Have you had reactions to local anesthesia before?”

Matt considered it. “I'm not sure I've had it.”

“We could try it some time. I don't think I've ever heard of someone with a lidocaine allergy, although if anyone could, it would be you.”

Matt huffed at her.

She shrugged. “That's all I've got. Sorry Matt.”

He closed his eyes. “It's okay. Not your fault.”

Foggy shifted on the coffee table. “Want to go home buddy?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I really do.”

Home at least had silk sheets and familiar noises and no allergens and it just smelled right, especially if Foggy had been there recently.

“Okay. Let's get you home,” Foggy said.

Matt nodded.

 

(He added fentanyl to the never again to be used drug list, and added lidocaine under potential options for the future.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked hard to get that exchange in from the meme because it was perfect.


	6. Chapter 6

Foggy showed up at his apartment a few days later brandishing a gift.

 

“Got a present for you Murdock.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I'm a bit tired of Claire calling me, saying that you've in her apartment and refusing to go to the ER with yet another weird reaction to drugs, or that you're out of your mind in her apartment and need to be picked up.”

Matt winced. “I keep trying to tell people not to give me anything, but-”

Foggy waved a hand at him. “Yeah, whatever. She first though you were just trying to be macho and tough it out through the pain. She knows better now. But still, I thought this was necessary.”

He handed Matt something small, made of metal. A bracelet. He could probably tell the alloy if he tried, but he focused on the bracelet itself first.

There was an oval tag with an engraving on one side, and a raised image on the other.

“Can you tell what it says?” Foggy asked.

 

The lettering was engraved right into the tag on the bracelet, and Matt could feel what it said.

 

MULTIPLE ALLERGIES

DO NOT GIVE DRUGS

WITHOUT CALLING

 

The number for the hotline was underneath.

“Yes, I can. Thanks Foggy,” Matt sighed.

“Best part? I got you another one too. Says the same thing, but it's registered to Darek Devil. And that one is a sports band. Good for fighting crime. This one is a lot nicer looking. Good for wearing to court.”

“Thanks Foggy. Really.”

“It's red, by the way. I wanted to get you one with devil horns, but surprisingly, that wasn't an option.”

Matt laughed. “Probably not a huge demand for satanic accessories,” he agreed.

“Nah. So, I've given them all the information about your allergies, at least the ones we know about, and we can add more if you find out you're allergic to more ridiculous things.”

Matt laughed again. “I really should have allergy testing done, shouldn't I? Although I feel like that would just end badly.”

Foggy considered it. “Probably,” he agreed.

Matt put the bracelet on, and tucked the other one into his pocket. He would leave it in the trunk with his costume and wear it when going out. He did have a tendency to get hurt, and he certainly didn't want to end up explaining to well meaning paramedics that no, they couldn't give him drugs, no not even ibuprofen.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, an unconscious Daredevil was found in an alley, and his location was called in by a rare helpful citizen. When the paramedics arrived, they were surprised to find the vigilante was actually wearing a medicalert bracelet.

 

Rhonda was the one to call the number while Isaiah started assessing the man. He appeared to have fallen from the roof above. It was only one story, but anything could have happened.

Truth be told, Rhonda kind of wanted to find out Daredevil's identity. If the guy had a medicalert, surely he had to give his name?

She read out the identification number on the bracelet to the operator, who pulled up the guy's chart.

“Anaphylactic reactions to sulfa drugs, penicillin,and morphine. He has a number of other reactions, but none of which include anaphylaxis. He's also allergic to vancomycin, latex, aspirin, ibuprofen, phenobarbital, and opioids. He has paradoxical reactions to benzodiazepines, and opioids can also lead to allodynia or hyperalgesia. He also has animal and seasonal allergies.”

“Shit,” she said, because there wasn't much else to say to that.

The operator on the other end laughed. “Yeah, I know, right? Poor guy.”

“Do you have a name?” Rhonda asked hopefully.

“Yes, it's Darek Devil.”

“Okay, thank you.”

The operator told her she could call back if she had any more questions or wanted Darek's medical files sent to a certain hospital. Rhonda thanked her and hung up to attend to her patient.

 

“Don't give him any drugs Isaiah,” she warned. “Like, nothing. He's allergic to pretty much the entire world.”

Isaiah shrugged. “He's got a probable fracture of his ankle. I'm guessing we can't give him anything for the pain?”

“Certainly not until he wakes up and gives us the name of something he's definitely not allergic to, no.”

Isaiah sighed. “True.” He started inserting an IV line for fluids, and Rhonda busied herself with fitting a cervical collar on Mr Devil.

She may not have found out his name or anything about him, but if the guy ever went rogue and tried to take over the world, at least she'd know how to take him down.

 

(Although considering the guy woke up in the ambulance and left, hobbling down the street on his broken foot that was still in the splint, she wasn't so sure it would come to that. More likely he'd get himself killed first.)

 


End file.
